


Push and Pull

by Mangacat, TheArcher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Community: pod-together, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Podfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArcher/pseuds/TheArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles feels like he doesn’t fit right into this whole supernatural world, even though he’s always there, picking up the pieces. He finally decides to clear the air, with some unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Spoilers: Specific episode spoilers for 2x07 
> 
> A/N: Hc_bingo: abandoment issues. This is also my Pod-together 2012 challenge fic. Written by Mangacat and read by TheArcher.

Download links [MP3](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2012/TWoof-Push%20and%20Pull.mp3)/[M4B](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2012/TWoof-Push%20and%20Pull%20by%20Mangacat%20&%20TheArcher.m4b)  


  


“I get why you keep refusing me, Scott. You’re not an omega, you’re already an Alpha, of your own pack.”

Stiles’ brain automatically supplies him with unnecessary facts like eye colours and abilities and human behaviour and why the heck ever is he supposed to care, it’s not like he really _really_ knows how that shit works. It’s just always him they come back to when the shit hits the fan so that he can go and figure things out. His mental word vomit is still rambling on when he registers how Derek’s not looking at Scott, he’s looking at _him_ with that kind of betrayed hurt in his eyes like it’s suddenly all Stiles’ fault and how is that even possible, he’s like the only one in this ragtag group of would-be frenemies that is absolutely Norman Normal and has nothing to do with scents and instincts and pack dynamics, thank you very much.

 

Doesn’t mean the look cuts any less, because for some reason Stiles has a soft spot for grumpy old wolves that seem to excell at getting into decidedly hairy and potentially life-threatening situations in his presence.

Not that it’s his fucking fault anyway. Really.

Especially when all he gets as a ‘thank you’ is pretty damned mixed bag of signals.

His mental rant is cut short by the fact that their impromptu little pack meeting is broken up by one of their own apparently transforming into something slimey and scaly with claws of potentially homicidal proportions.

Karma’s a bitch, baby.

 

Things get a bit hectic for a moment there and between hunters and new breeds of mythical creatures and his dad almost busting him and Scott for essential kidnapping a fellow student, Stiles doesn’t have the time or the brain capacity to analyze the exchange any more. But things come rushing back when he takes a breath after successfully trussing up Jackson in the borrowed prison van and congratulating himself for another ingenious short term solution. Stiles scrubs his hands over his head and stalks away from Scott and his clueless puppy-dog look for a minute and wonders why he’s so caught up in this. Because really, if he was going to be part of _any_ one’s pack, it would have been Scott, right? He’s the reason Stiles is involved all this stuff anyway. Never mind that when Peter Hale offered him the bite and he chickened out and said he didn’t want it, he really didn’t want it from _that_ particular Hale. He’s not positive that he’d want it from any other Hale especially with things as they are, but whenever he looks at Derek things go a little fuzzy in his head and fluttery in his stomach and reasonable behaviour is not the first priority.

Not that it means anything because, yeah right, why would it.

 

Which is totally why he leaves Scott and Allison to take first watch with Jackson – looking back at that he has to plead temporary stupidity, because, yeah – and finds himself sitting in his jeep in front of a dilapidated, burnt-out shell of a house wondering what he’s doing here.

_Looking for Derek._

Only Derek doesn’t live here anymore since there’s a bunch of pretty pissed off werewolf hunters out for his ass that all know about this place. For some reason Stiles still gets out of the car, fingers curling into the frame for a moment before he lets the door fall closed and walks over to the veranda. He turns around and plops down on the highest step, realizing a second too late that the thing is just as likely to crumble and bury him as hold his weight. Luckily, the only thing that happens is a screeching groan from the dry wood, but the momentary surge of adrenaline from the shock makes Stiles’ skin prickle. He scrubs his hands over his face and hair before he laces his fingers in the nape of his neck and takes a couple of deep breaths.

 

Putting together what he’s got in his mind doesn’t take long, but it still doesn’t get him any closer to figuring this strange song and dance he’s got going with Derek and his place in the whole pack situation. He’s human of course, so he’s not bound by the same instincts as Scott or Erica or even Derek, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care or feels protective of his people. And sure, Scott’s his best friend so Derek would rightly assume Stiles to side with him, and he does; he has no desire to kill Jackson even if he’s kinda going around lynching people. But Scott’s also never been the brightest crayon in the box, as much as Stiles loves the guy and what leadership qualities he has are seriously girl-impaired right now. It’s maddening, why can’t he just have a best friend with better judgment or an Alpha wolf who’s not quite as homicidal as he’s attractive. Which leads back to the fact that it’s apparently all up to Stiles to fix, because he’s the brains of this operation and sees what’s wrong with the picture.

 

“If you think any harder, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

The sound of the half growled sentence jolts Stiles out of his thoughts, making him nearly jump out of his skin and crawl backwards until he’s stopped by the wall.

“Jeez, gawd, darn, Derek, could you quit sneaking up on people like that; you scared the living daylights out of me.”

Derek straightens slightly from where he was looming and Stiles swears there’s the remnant of a smug smile tugged in the corner of his mouth. Bastard’s not going to stop being sneaky, he actually _enjoys_ that too much.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“I could hear you emoting over your deep thoughts all the way across town.”

Stiles eyes widen at the thought of Derek being in his head like that.

“What the… really!?”

Derek manages to keep a straight face for about three seconds before amusement glints in his eyes and gives him away.

“Oh, you… that is so not funny. How the heck am I supposed to know which of all the supernatural shit out there actually works now, eh? And don’t even get me started on the fact that you, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious have been entirely unhelpful in sharing vital information that is, you know, vital.”

He’s babbling, but Stiles always does when he’s nervous so this is nothing out of the ordinary, but where his train of thought goes next could get him in deep, deep trouble.

“Like the way you were looking at me just now, like I was kicking your favourite puppy, pardon the pun, being on Scott’s team. I’m not one of your precious new betas that you can instinctually guilt-trip into taking your shit and you have given me absolutely no reason to. So what the hell, man?”

 

Derek looks for just a millisecond like he took a fist in the face before the shutters come down again and Stiles feels one part guilty for steamrolling him like that and one part vindicated that you can put cracks into that façade after all. Doesn’t help on the other hand if he’s riling up the resident alpha into being seriously pissed off.

“I… hey, wait a minute, I don’t owe you anything! I’m trying to hold my pack together best as I can, alright, and seriously your and Scott’s antics about how you know so much better is not helping.”

Derek slowly advances with his words, like this whole looming, growly werewolf intimidation shit still works on Stiles and… ok, it totally still works, but that’s beside the point. Looks like Stiles really hit a nerve right there.

“Then what are you even doing here? I mean, if you really can’t like establish a telepathic connection to people, there’s no reason for you to be here and know that I’ve been here thinking about you, except if you’ve been hanging around, waiting for…”

Derek’s eyes go wide and Stiles knows he’s onto something here, but then Derek focuses on something completely different that makes the conversation go off the rails.

“You were thinking about me?!”

 

Stiles decides that he’s lounged around on the floor in a decidedly inferior position long enough and scrambles to his feet, wall still pressed close to his back. But at least now he can look Derek square in the eye while they’re talking.

“And of all the rather pressing and unresolved issues we need to be talking about, _that_ is the one that gets your attention?”

Derek’s jaw shuts with an audible click and his eyes are suddenly locked on the doorjamb next to Stiles’ head that must have developed a particularly riveting look in the past ten seconds. Stiles wants to throw his arms up in exasperation, but really Derek’s refusal to acknowledge the situation just makes his theory more likely.

“So you’re what, keeping track of my whereabouts now, so you can conveniently swoop in on my emo-fests?”

The realization makes all kinds of thoughts swirl in his head about stalkery things and fuck, he hadn’t even thought about the possibility that he would lead people straight to Jackson and man, this was so above his paygrade it wasn’t even funny anymore.

 

“I’m definitely not following you around like some puppy. I have way more important things to do than that.”

“Do you, really? Because it looks to me an awful lot like…”

And that should teach him to learn and hold his tongue for once instead of poking the riled up Alpha with a verbal stick. Derek snarls and charges, up the last couple of steps right into Stiles’ face, pinning him against the rough wood of the wall. Something in Stiles that’s kind of primal and has a shred of survival instinct wants to protect his throat before the predator in front of him goes for the kill, but his arms don’t move even half an inch against supernatural strength. And suddenly it registers that Derek looks an awful lot more like he’s going for a kiss than a kill and Stiles inexplicably wants to do something very different with his throat… like bare it.

 

They stare at each other for a few moments, breaths heaving, until Stiles just tips his head up an inch which is all it takes for his lips to touch Derek’s, not even a real kiss just a brush of trembling skin against skin, because apparently he’s shaking like leaf. But he still stands his ground, keeps his eyes open even though he might be one shaky exhale away from getting his guts ripped out and shatters that fragile balance that they’d had going on. Nothing happens for a few seconds and then Derek reels back, eyes blown wide and his face slack with an expression Stiles has never seen on him. Surprise and disbelief and maybe a little bit… Stiles feels his heart thunder in his ears as he waits it out and in his voice screams _do something, dosomethingdosomethingdosome…_

And he’s not sure if it’s talking to him or Derek, but the message seems to get through and a second later, Derek collides with him and this one is definitely a kiss. Rough, messy, and oh so glorious, all tongues and teeth with just a hint of fangs that sends a charge of arousal down his spine that’s way stronger than it should be. It makes Derek’s nostrils flare as he takes in the scent and Stiles finds that way too attractive, for it pushes his brain just one step closer to being fried.

 

Without warning Derek tears away though and suddenly there’s an arm’s length worth of space between them where there really shouldn’t be. Stiles lets out a puzzled ‘what…?’ and wants to follow, but he still can’t move against the iron grip around his biceps. They’re both panting slightly and Derek’s pupils are ringed with a shimmer of red that disappears when he blinks and shakes his head and finally loosens his grip.

“No..I… can’t… we can’t do this.”

“What?!”

“You… you don’t know, this … if we do this, it’s going to get you killed. I’m… we can’t.”

And this right there is what makes Stiles furious, that Derek can’t even find a better excuse than mollycoddling the fragile little human in the pack.

“Dude, seriously, so not your call, and in case you haven’t noticed I’m already fucking _in the middle of it_ ,” he snarls back.

 

But he isn’t prepared for the stricken look on Derek’s face, such an incongruous expression on the cocky young alpha’s features.

“I… if something happened to…, I don’t…”

And suddenly he gets it, the reminder of all Derek’s lost in the past years hitting him like a ton of bricks, thinking of Laura and Peter and the ghosts of all the people drifting through the ruined shell of a house behind him. Before he can think properly about it, Stiles has stepped forward and curled his hands over Derek’s waist, hard muscles rippling with tension under his fingers. He leans in, tugs Derek closer until he can feel the stubble scratch slightly; watch his breath raise goosebumps on Derek’s neck as he whispers under his breath:

”I’m not going to break that easily. And it’s not your decision to tell me what I can or can’t have if you want it too.”

He can feel Derek wavering, all the arguments about why this is a bad, bad idea undoubtedly swirling in his head, but Stiles has had enough of being left in the dust of better, stronger, faster. And apparently his superpower is turning this particular werewolf to mush because Derek goes boneless against him when he rubs his nose and lips slightly against his neck. He further makes his point by picking up again where they left off, though with a lot less urgency and more savoring body against body and skin on skin. Stiles has no idea how Derek would capable of giving up something that feels this good, but he’s going to go any length he needs to make him change his mind. And for the first time, Stiles kinda gets how Scott thinks that the sun shines out of Allison’s ass, if this is what really making out is like, and why they do it every single time they have a chance to be alone. Like right now, for example. With Jackson just a few feet away and primed to turn into a homicidal scaly person in a split second.

 

“Ho shit.”

The realization stops him dead in his tracks and Stiles immediately starts disentangling himself from Derek while cursing silently at the universe for interrupting every one of the single most important moments in his life with this crap.

“I gotta… I just remembered that… I gotta go.”

Stiles stumbles past Derek and down the stairs; lucky that he doesn’t land in a heap falling over his own feet. He half turns to look back at Derek, who seems to be rooted to the spot, and calls out:

“We’re not finished with this.”

He half expects the alpha to charge or roar or at least say something, but Derek just looks back at him with a stony expression while he’s wrenching the door of his jeep open and for a moment he’s torn between running off to keep his friends from possibly being ripped to shreds and running back. Stiles curses again while he grips the wheel and throws the jeep into reverse, hoping against hope that this thing with Derek isn’t going to be dead on arrival the next time they meet. Peeling down the bumpy road into the forest he keeps his eyes on the still figure in the rearview mirror and swears to himself that he’s not going to let it go, no matter how much he’ll need to drag Derek along kicking and screaming.

It’s the best he can do, for now.


End file.
